Afterwards
by Jedi Sapphire
Summary: In the aftermath of the events of Betrayal, the Elves of the Woodland Realm must come to terms with everything that has happened.
1. One Day Later: Melda

**Disclaimer:** Not one Elf.

 **Author's Note:** So… I've been crazy busy, but I have a bit of time now. I intended that this should be a one-shot, but it ran away from me a little. Updates will be slower than usual, but since each part of this fic is standalone, it shouldn't leave anyone in too much suspense.

This is a direct sequel to _Betrayal_ and will make no sense unless you've read that first.

 **Summary:** In the aftermath of the events of Betrayal, the Elves of the Woodland Realm must come to terms with everything that has happened.

* * *

 **Afterwards**

 **One Day Later: Melda**

Melda stands in her bedroom alone. She has not seen Feredir and Calathiel since Thranduil confronted her with the poisoned honey pot.

She has barely even seen her father.

She wonders if he is angrier because she induced him to suspect Calathiel, or because she nearly succeeded in killing his beloved young archer. For all his panicked scrambling to keep Legolas' injury hidden from Thranduil, Melda knows, knows with the certainty of one who lives with that knowledge every day of her life, that Thorontur loves Legolas as fiercely as he loves any of his own children.

She does not begrudge Legolas her father's affection. How could she? He is the motherless youth who grew into the prince the Woodland Realm desperately needed. He is the archer who stepped effortlessly into her father's shoes, letting him give up active battle when the centuries of bloodshed began to weigh on his soul.

He is the warrior Feredir always wanted to be but never could.

Melda does not begrudge Legolas her father's affection, but she cannot forgive him for claiming it.

Her eyes are unseeing as she folds gowns and wraps books in oilskin to preserve them from the elements. Middle-earth is the only home she has ever known. She has not yet felt the call of Eldamar across the Sea. She should feel all the grief of her departure, but the truth is that she feels nothing.

Legolas is weak.

She said that in court.

Legolas is weak. She knows that is true. A strong Elf – a strong _leader_ – would have had the courage to see Melda's trial through to its logical conclusion. A strong Elf would have had the stomach for justice. He would not have begged the King for clemency that Melda neither wanted nor needed.

Legolas _is_ weak.

Melda glances out the window. The afternoon sun hangs low in the sky. She has a few more hours.

At the foot of the _talan_ are two of the Royal Guard. As much as she would like to think they are there to ensure she does not attempt Legolas' life again, she knows they are there to protect her. The King may have spared her, but Legolas' archers are fiercely loyal to him. He would not yet have been strong enough to extol to _them_ the virtues of mercy.

There is a sharp knock at the door.

Melda thinks ruefully that a warrior would have known someone was in the _talan_.

When she opens it, her father is standing there. She knows he would have tried his utmost to persuade Thranduil to spare her life, if Legolas had not already done it, and even if the Elven-prince _had_ died. But it would have been purely out of sense of duty. There is no spark of warmth in his grey eyes.

"I spoke to the King of your request," he says. "Legolas is willing to see you before you leave."

"Alone?"

"Yes, alone, although that is against the King's counsel – and, I must add, my own."

"What can I do to harm the finest archer the Woodland Realm has ever seen?" Melda is unsuccessful at keeping the bitterness from her tone. "He will not drink anything I give him, and I am certain he has recovered enough strength that I could never overpower him."

Her father stares at her as though he does not know her. She does not know him, either. The last few weeks have changed him. He risked Legolas' life to protect his children. Whether or not he forgives Melda for her role in it, he will never forgive himself. He has shamed himself in his own eyes, and forfeited the trust of one of his closest friends.

Melda still cannot bring herself to regret her actions.

" _Why?_ " her father says at last. "Why would you do this thing?"

"Legolas is weak –"

"I am not asking for the answer you gave the court."

"If you are wilfully blind…" Melda shrugs. "Legolas is not what you believe he is."

"Nor, it would appear, are you."

"Why try to protect me, then?" There is a challenge in her voice. "You were willing to beg my life of Thranduil. You would have done it –"

"I would never have succeeded," he snaps. "You owe your continued existence to Legolas. No other Elf in all Middle-earth could have persuaded Thranduil to spare the life of one who tried to kill his son. A little gratitude would not be amiss."

Melda does not miss the fact that he avoided her question. She decides to ignore the evasion. "When can I see him?"

"Go at once… And, Melda, do nothing foolish. Not even Nienna will summon any pity for your fate if you try to harm him now."

Melda does not wait to respond.

She avoids the archery ranges and the sparring fields. Even so, every Elf she passes looks at her as though she is a viper. There are hisses and mutters of _Traitor_ and _Murderer_ in her wake. She forces herself to keep walking as though she has not heard.

Arahael meets her as she is crossing the courtyard.

She warns him with a glance to say nothing incriminating. There is nothing to connect him to any of this. The King might suspect, but nobody has any proof that Arahael was involved.

"Melda."

She knows that tone. It is the tone of one who has faced grief and found it too difficult to bear and is now frightened of his own thoughts. It is the tone of one who will not let himself feel for fear that his feelings will overwhelm him.

"I am sorry for your loss," Melda says quietly.

Arahael nods. "I am sorry you must go."

He takes her hands for a moment. He does not say a word, but she sees in his face that, however great his sorrow and despair, he has not given up.

Legolas is in his study, alone, as promised, although Eredhion and Voronwë are waiting outside the door. She does not know where the others are, but she suspects Legolas ordered them away to prevent any complications.

Her experienced healer's eye notes that he is still a little pale, his cheeks a little hollow, but other than that he appears much as usual. He is dressed in the greens and browns of the archers. Even with no weapons in sight, he looks every inch the warrior he is.

Legolas might understand why she had to do what she did.

She waits for his invitation before he sits. If Legolas is angry, he does not show it. His blue eyes are calm and questioning – and, devoid of their normal merry glint, almost frightening.

"I have come to explain," Melda says. "I did not tell the King everything in court. You deserve to know the truth."

Legolas inclines his head in acknowledgement, but says nothing.

"I did it myself. It was my decision. I want that understood. Nobody else is to blame."

Legolas raises an eyebrow. "I thought you were going to give me the truth."

"That _is_ the truth. Why should I blame the dead for my own crimes? It is enough that they must answer to Lord Námo for theirs. Míron could never have persuaded me into high treason if it had not already been in my mind."

"Why was it in your mind?"

"Look at you." Melda suits the action to the word. "I knew your father before you were born, Legolas. We were just beginning to realize that the Enemy had not been utterly defeated and would soon come upon us again. We were frightened. It was a dark time. It was easy to see that the King was not entirely certain he wanted a child. But… well, Queen Lindariel could be very persuasive. And then you came."

"I trust you have a point."

"My point is that _you_ came. You brought joy to your parents, as all children do, and you also brought hope to the realm. But children grow up, Legolas. When Feredir grew up, it was quite clear that he would never be the warrior my father was. You cannot imagine how much he wanted it."

"I understand."

"Of course you do not understand. How _could_ you understand? When you were born, you were a symbol of hope. When you grew up, you were the perfect son to the Elven-king – a fine warrior, unmatched in bowmanship, reckless in your worst moments but indescribably brave in your best. You have more loyalty from your archers than even your father. Everyone saw it. My father saw it. He loved you even more for it. And Feredir, no matter how he tried, was never going to be a match for the warrior-prince of Eryn Galen."

"You never believed anything Míron said about the realm being better off without me, did you?"

"Oh, I did, but not as you think. As you know, I was in Imladris some time ago to learn from Lord Elrond and the healers of the Noldor. I happened to overhear Lord Elrond speaking to Lady Celebrían." Melda can feel her cheeks heating. Absurdly, she is guiltier about eavesdropping than about anything else she has done. "You know Lord Elrond has the gift of foresight. He said exactly what I said in court, which, no doubt, has been repeated to you. You must not be here when the final battle comes. And it will fall to you, to Mithrandir, and to others not yet born, to make decisions that might save Middle-earth, or give it into the Enemy's hands."

Melda glances at Legolas' face. There is no surprise in it.

"Mithrandir has already given you an indication of this," she surmises. "Or perhaps Lord Elrond has. I believed what I heard, of course, but I am no fool. I know that is not reason enough for murder. We cannot always understand what the Wise mean, particularly when they speak of things that are yet to come."

"And you chose to disclose what you heard to Míron."

"Feredir is my brother." Melda clasps her hands on her knee. "Your existence has made every day of his life difficult. I know that was not your intention. It is not your fault. It never has been. You have done your duty. Do not misunderstand me; Feredir is your friend. He would not for a moment dream of betraying you. But I have seen how it has grieved him that you have been everything that he could never be to our father… Calathiel sees it as well. That was why she was so desperate to be allowed to accompany the archers into battle. She thought, I believe, that she could make up for the fact that none of us risks as much in the defence of the realm as the warriors do."

There is no anger in Legolas' face now. He looks almost compassionate. Melda tells herself that is a sign of weakness.

"Melda, you know that the work you do is as important as anything –"

"As anything the warriors do. I know. I _know_ , but that does not make it any easier when I hear whispers that my brother is a coward and my father a hypocrite. But the very fact that you say that means that you do _not_ understand how it feels, and you never can."

Legolas studies her. "Do you truly imagine taking my life would have given you peace?"

"Of course not. I am no fool. I know the burden killing an Elf would have placed on my soul. For sparing me that, at least, I suppose I owe thanks to Saeldur. Do not try to understand, Legolas, because you will fail. You should be _grateful_ that you cannot understand. For all the griefs you have endured, you have been spared this."

"If you think I cannot understand," says Legolas, "why did you want to come and explain yourself? Surely you can put your last few hours in Eryn Galen to better use."

"I do not want you to blame my father."

There is a flash of _something_ in Legolas' eyes. For a fleeting moment, Melda is frightened, as she realizes that it is not the merry prince sitting opposite her, but a very skilled and very dangerous Elven warrior. As quickly as it comes, it is gone, and Legolas' face is expressionless.

"You have enough to answer for, Lady Melda," he says. "There is no need for you to take on the burden of Lord Thorontur's decisions."

"It is not that simple. I have caused him grief I did not intend. If I am sorry for anything…"

Legolas leans back in his chair and crosses his arms. "It should please you that your father was willing to protect his children at any cost. Surely that answers many of your objections to my existence."

"It was my mother's assurances and my persuasion that swayed him. Left to himself, he would have spoken openly to you. You were far too unwell to know how frightened he was, and he hid it from everyone else, but I saw it. He was desperately terrified that he would lose either you or his youngest daughter. He was terrified to ask himself which loss would be heavier. When we offered him a glimmer of hope, he snatched at it." Melda draws in a deep breath. "I promised you the truth, and I will give it to you. The knowledge that my father would risk your life _should_ give me solace. But I have seen what it has done to him. He hates himself."

"I do not know what you expect me to do."

"That is why I am here. I would not have asked for mercy for myself. I knew what I was doing, and I was willing to pay the price. You gave me mercy unasked." Melda has to steel herself for her next words. "Legolas, _please_. I know you owe me nothing. I am here to ask for mercy for my father."

"Your father will not be standing trial. I imagine you know that."

"But he has forfeited your trust, and that is a far worse punishment than anything the Council might do to him. I… I know I cannot ask you to trust him, but… but can you not give him a chance to earn your faith again? Your father might never forgive him, Lord Arbellason might not… And he will never forgive himself, or me. But if you… if you will… If you can find it in your heart to show him mercy, he might at least forgive my mother."

Melda finally meets Legolas' eyes. She can read nothing in them.

"Legolas," she begins, but he shakes his head to cut her off.

"I think we have said everything there is to say on the subject of your actions, Lady Melda."

"Will you think on my request?"

"I understand you have decided to take ship to the Blessed Realm. I hope you will have good sailing."

It is not a promise to grant her request. But it is not a refusal, either. Perhaps it is all she can hope for at this time.

"Thank you," she says quietly, getting to her feet. "And I hope…" She hesitates. "The greatest war of our Age is coming. I hope your courage will not fail you. Goodbye, Legolas."

Without waiting for his response, Melda goes to prepare for her last journey in Middle-earth.

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	2. One Week Later: Saeldur

**Disclaimer:** Not one Elf.

 **Author's Note:** So here this is… Later than expected, I know. I'd like to promise that the next update will be quicker but all I can say is I'll do my best.

Enjoy this chapter!

* * *

 **One Week Later: Saeldur**

It is well past midnight when there is a knock on Saeldur's door. He cannot pretend he is not relieved. He has not been able to find pleasant dreams since Míron's death, and he has little more than a passing interest in the book whose pages he has been idly turning. Any distraction is welcome.

Saeldur's feeling of relief vanishes when he sees Arahael, dressed in the dark robes of mourning.

There is a moment of awkward silence. Saeldur's emotions are in a whirlpool of guilt and anger and sorrow. He cannot trust himself to speak.

At last he steps back from the door. Arahael strides into the room without a word.

They stare at each other until the silence grows too oppressive to bear. Saeldur bursts out, " _What?_ "

"I want to know who killed my father."

Arahael's voice trembles with suppressed grief. Saeldur's stomach writhes with guilt, even as he feels a flash of frustration. He never asked to be put in this position. He did not incite Míron to sedition. He did not tell Melda to poison the Prince. He did his duty, a duty he does not regret for a moment.

All the same…

"I do not know." Saeldur does not know if he feels worse about the lie or the lack of sympathy in his tone. "Legolas has said nothing to me." That, at least, is true.

"Then _ask_ him." Arahael grips the top of a chair, turning away from Saeldur. "The fool tells you _everything_. He told you what he remembers of the night Lindariel died. I did not understand then, but now I know his mother's death must have been far more disturbing than an attempt on his own life. Ask him and he will tell you who killed my father. I must know!"

" _Why_ must you know?" Saeldur's tone is almost harsh now. It is the only way he can keep from giving himself away. "What will you gain from the knowledge? Your father was killed in defence of the life of the Prince. He had a knife to Legolas' throat. Whoever did it is guilty of no crime."

"The King may say so," Arahael says, low and fierce. "The council may say so. All the Woodland Realm may say so. But I will never believe it."

"Your father was trying to kill Legolas. It was an act of treason."

"For the good of the realm!" Arahael hisses. He draws several deep breaths before he goes on in a more normal voice, "Everything my father did, he did for the benefit of the Sindar who dwell here. I must know the truth, Saeldur. And you… You _owe_ me that much."

"I owe you nothing."

"If you had only kept silent – kept _silent_ , that was all – this would not have happened."

"No, Legolas would have died instead."

"It would have been worthwhile! You claim to be a warrior, Saeldur! I knew you had a soft corner for Legolas, but it never occurred to me that your courage would fail you!" Arahael glares a moment more, and then his face softens. "I will say this… I understand, a little. I did not earlier, but now… after my father…" He shudders.

"I know it is difficult," Saeldur tells him. "Do not make it worse for yourself, Arahael. If you understand so much now, you must also see that the only way to heal your heart is to relinquish your anger."

"You expect me to forgive my father's death?" Arahael snaps. "Would _you_?" Before Saeldur can say anything, he goes on, "We are… his… my father's funeral. Tomorrow."

"Yes."

"Legolas told you?" Arahael asks sharply.

"He did. And he said –"

"My mother told Legolas that she and I do not want to see him there, or anyone who claims to be his friend. Yes. That is true. It is tomorrow, at dusk."

"Surely you do not expect me to come?"

"Of course I do," Arahael says impatiently.

"Legolas is my –"

"Legolas is what?" Arahael snaps. "Your friend? Your commanding officer? Your brother in arms, as you are so fond of saying? Whatever he is, that did not prevent you from betraying all his secrets to my father. Was it truly affection for him that motivated you to save his life? Perhaps you were simply trying to save yourself from the consequences if anyone discovered your role in our plans."

Saeldur feels heat flood his face. "Do you think I was _afraid_?"

"Only a fool would not have been afraid of Thranduil's reaction. And I know you are no fool." Arahael's eyes harden. "I also know you are enough of a fool to be more afraid of Legolas' disappointment than Thranduil's justice. This, then, is your choice, Saeldur: you will come, and let everyone in the realm see where your allegiance lies, or I will go to Legolas and tell him everything."

* * *

Saeldur cannot suppress his sigh of relief when the guard at the entrance to the royal quarters tells him Legolas is in his room. He hurries down the corridor and knocks at Legolas' door, barely waiting for a response before opening it.

Legolas is by the sitting-room window. "You look worried," he comments, putting aside the letter he is reading by lamplight. "Is something wrong?"

Saeldur pours himself a cup of wine and perches on the window sill. "Míron's funeral is tomorrow."

Legolas nods.

Bile burns in Saeldur's throat. He takes a swallow of the wine to settle his stomach.

"Arahael wants me to attend the funeral." When Legolas simply looks at him as though waiting for him to continue, Saeldur bursts out, "He wants _me_ to attend – when he has made it clear that he wants to see only those who supported Míron's sedition."

"Nobody could possibly imagine you supported Míron's sedition. You should go."

"I would not want you to think –"

"Saeldur." Legolas sounds faintly exasperated. "Do you truly expect I would hold it against you? Arahael is your friend. He has suffered a terrible loss. Regardless of what Míron intended or Arahael wants, that is true."

Saeldur feels relief. And shame. He knew what Legolas would say; he has not been Legolas' second for centuries, and his friend for longer, without knowing his generosity of spirit. It feels like betrayal to take advantage of it. Yet he cannot bring himself to confess, not so soon after Melda… after Thorontur. Even Legolas' capacity to forgive has limits.

"It is not just that," he says slowly. "Arahael does not know that it was _I_ who killed… I _cannot_ tell him."

"You do not have to tell him. Do you want me to speak to him? Is that it?"

"No, no, I did not mean… How did you find the courage, Legolas? After Candnaur died, when you came to my mother to tell her?"

Legolas' blue eyes grow troubled, enough to make Saeldur almost, _almost_ regret his question. At last he says, "It was my duty, Saeldur. I have delivered the news personally to the family of every archer who has fallen under my command. Candnaur deserved no less. And I could hardly let you tell her alone… I will tell him if you wish, Saeldur. As your commanding officer it is my duty."

"Lord Thorontur spoke to me this morning."

If Legolas is startled by the abrupt change of subject, he does not show it. "The King has not yet decided what to do about him. He is an excellent Archery Master, but… if he is Archery Master, he will sit on the War Council. My father has not yet forgiven him enough for that. I do not know if he ever will."

"Will you?"

Legolas shrugs. "That hardly matters."

"You know that is not true. Your archers will look to you for guidance, no matter what your father says. If you do not forgive him… He can scarcely be Archery Master if the finest archers of the realm will not accept him."

"You _want_ me to forgive him," Legolas says. Saeldur should not be surprised. After all, Legolas knows him as well as he knows Legolas. "Why?"

"Because he cares for you, and he acted without thinking… I am certain he blames himself far more than you possibly could. At least speak to him, Legolas."

"I will consider it."

With that Saeldur has to be content.

* * *

Míron's funeral is as difficult as Saeldur thought it would be. His parents are not there, of course. He does not want to think of what they would say if they knew he attended, with or without Legolas' blessing.

No member of court is there, save Míron's brother. Míron's family and a scattering of Arahael's friends stand by the graveside. They stare unabashedly at Saeldur, some with interest, some with suspicion. Saeldur makes note of their faces, but he is quite certain that anyone who was truly a part of Míron's scheming would take care not to be present.

He leaves as soon as he can. He wants nothing more than to return to his room unseen, go to bed, and pretend that the past weeks never happened. So it is not in the least surprising that he encounters Rochendilwen as soon as he enters the warriors' quarters.

"Where have you been?" she asks. "Lord Thorontur has been having some difficulty on the archery ranges."

Her eyes darken dangerously as she speaks his name. She, like most of the archers, has not forgiven Thorontur. It makes Saeldur wonder, again, if Legolas ever will. He thinks Legolas does not know the answer to that himself. If he cannot…

Saeldur turns away quickly before Rochendilwen can see his change of expression.

"Legolas says the King has not yet made up his mind," he says.

"It is not the King's judgement that concerns me at this moment. It is not –" She cuts herself off abruptly, probably having remembered that they are in the corridor and anybody might overhear. "In any case, he was searching for you."

Saeldur shrugs, uncomfortable. "I was occupied."

"You were…" Rochendilwen's eyes widen. She is far too perceptive. " _No._ "

Without another word, she seizes his arm and drags him to her room, which is nearest. She pulls him inside and shuts the door.

"You were at Míron's funeral."

It is not a question.

Saeldur feels his face heat. "What if I was?"

"After everything he did? He tried to kill Legolas! And Arahael said –"

"Arahael was grieving and said more than he meant." Saeldur tries to keep his voice even, but he knows he is failing. "He is not the only one who has made that mistake."

"Do you take me for a fool? Arahael has no love for Legolas. His grief only made him admit it aloud. Was he happy to see you there?"

" _Happy?_ At a time like this?"

"You know what I mean," she snaps. "The Elf who said he would allow no friend of Legolas' to cross his threshold allowed _you_ to cross it. Why?"

Saeldur elects to tell a partial truth. "He thought I could tell him who… who killed his father."

Then he regrets it, as Rochendilwen's eyes meet his. The truth of what happened has been revealed to nobody from whom it could be kept. She does not _know_ , she _cannot_ know, but…

"Arahael thought you could answer that question for him?" is all Rochendilwen asks.

"If he did, he was disappointed. I know nothing."

Rochendilwen's mouth tightens. "You need not lie to me. I am not asking. But you had best be careful. You are playing a dangerous game, Saeldur."

"Legolas had no objection to my going to the funeral. I do not see that it is any business of yours."

Rochendilwen's face darkens for a moment, before she shakes herself and says, voice much more even, "Saeldur, I am not looking for an argument. You are as much my friend as Legolas is. I do not want you to lose yourself – and you _will_ lose yourself. You think you are loyal to Legolas above all others, and so it does not matter what you do with Arahael because your friendship for Legolas cannot be shaken by anything. But Arahael's words are as poisonous as his father's actions. If you are not careful that poison will enter your soul."

* * *

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	3. One Month Later: Thorontur

**Disclaimer:** Everything belongs to the Professor.

 **Author's Note:** I'm so sorry, there's not even an excuse for this being so late. I think I can at least promise the next one will be quicker.

Enjoy!

* * *

 **One Month Later: Thorontur**

Thorontur gets help from an unexpected source.

For the past month he has spent the better part of every day trying to obtain an audience with the prince. He feels like he has never before appreciated the advantage of being – _having been_ – one of the King's closest friends. Being turned away from the royal quarters because the King is occupied is a new experience, as is having the guard on duty politely but firmly refuse him Legolas' door.

He knows he has been neglecting his duties – but, in truth, he thinks it is best for everybody that he should stay away from the practice ranges now. When an Elf as soft-hearted as Legolas has been moved to implacable anger, what can he expect from the archers who are fiercely loyal to their commander and far less forgiving than he is? If they do not openly ignore Thorontur, that is the extent of their courtesy. Legolas himself, on the rare occasions they have been on the ranges together, treats him with cool civility that Thorontur finds far more unbearable than open anger would be.

Surprisingly, it is Saeldur who is politest to him. Saeldur, whose fierce loyalty to Legolas is frequently stronger than his wisdom, is the only one of the archers to treat Thorontur with something approaching friendliness.

And when Thorontur, for what feels like the thousandth time, has been told that Legolas is not receiving visitors, it is Saeldur who hurries out of the prince's study to catch up with the Archery Master as he walks dejectedly away.

"Perhaps I should resign," Thorontur says, more to himself than to Saeldur. "I cannot in all conscience claim to be training the archers."

"You cannot resign, my lord. Who could possibly take your place? Legolas will forgive you. I know he will. He only needs time."

Thorontur glances at the young archer. If a part of him wonders why Saeldur, of all Elves, is trying to provide him solace, he is enough in need of that solace to dismiss the thought. Later, much, much later, he will remember this moment and wish he had pursued the matter.

"I have never known Legolas this implacable," says Thorontur. "I confess I cannot blame him. If it had been anybody else… And yet…" Thorontur sighs. "I should have told him. I know that now. I knew it then, but I could not bring myself to do it. Legolas would have persuaded Thranduil against executing Melda – or Calathiel, if it had been her doing. Banishment is a small price to pay."

"Do you truly believe that, my lord?"

"Of course. I will see her again, and… It is not only Legolas who needs time. When I think that Legolas could have died… Melda is my daughter, and she always will be, but her actions are repugnant. To try to kill an _Elf_ , and one who has done her no harm – to try to kill _Legolas_ … Perhaps, by the time we meet again in the Blessed Realm, she will have repented of her actions. She is my daughter. I love her. But until she shows true remorse, I cannot forgive her."

"You should have told Legolas," Saeldur says quietly. Then he goes on, "But I understand, my lord. You were frightened."

"Frightened," Thorontur scoffs. "No. I was a fool. I thought my daughter would be put to death because I knew _I_ could not forgive anybody who harmed Legolas. I forgot that Legolas is far more forgiving than I am." He laughs bitterly. "But even he, it appears, is not forgiving enough to want to see me."

"Legolas trusted you."

"I know he did." A pause, a deep breath, and then, "Is there _anything_ I can do?" Saeldur studies him for a moment, brow furrowed. Thorontur sees the conflict on his face. "Tell me," he urges. "It is no disloyalty to Legolas to tell me _how_ I can make him amends."

"Only Legolas can tell you that, my lord. But…" Saeldur bites his lip. "Legolas will not be pleased with me. Meet me on the ranges just before night training begins. I will persuade him to speak to you." Before Thorontur can say a word of thanks, Saeldur goes on, a sudden hard edge in his voice, "If you betray Legolas again, my lord, Elbereth help me, I will not wait for the King to pass judgement."

That sounds more like Saeldur.

Thorontur thinks of nothing else all day. He is at the practice ranges well before the appointed hour. He pretends to be supervising the archers, but he is giving no attention to them. They are giving none to him, either, so he supposes this is best for all concerned.

Saeldur arrives, catches Thorontur's eye, and jerks his head in the direction of the archers' hall.

Thorontur follows him into it, trying not to show a reaction to the dark looks cast his way from young Elves who are sitting in small groups talking or fletching arrows. Saeldur makes straight for the door leading to the small council chamber Legolas and his captains use to sort out duty lists.

Legolas is there. Alone.

From the way his eyes widen, flickering between Saeldur and Thorontur, he was not expecting them.

"This cannot go on," Saeldur says shortly, as he shuts the door. "The archers look to you for guidance, Legolas. You cannot expect them to learn from an Archery Master whom they cannot respect, and you cannot expect them to respect someone whose existence you will barely acknowledge."

There is something very like betrayal in Legolas' eyes as they meet Saeldur's. Not because of Saeldur's words, Thorontur knows, but because this has been sprung on Legolas without warning. Saeldur meets his gaze calmly, although with a slight flush of embarrassment. Whatever argument they have about this will be later, in the privacy of Legolas' study. Thorontur would feel bad about being the cause of it, but he does not have room for more guilt in his mind. Besides, it will hardly be the first time Legolas and Saeldur have argued.

"Saeldur," Thorontur murmurs, "it would be better if I could speak to Legolas in private."

Saeldur does not move until a slight inclination of Legolas' head gives him permission. Then he hurries out, shutting the door firmly behind him.

"I apologize," Thorontur says quietly. "I had no idea Saeldur intended to surprise you with… this."

"Please sit. How may I help you, my lord?"

Thorontur drops into one of the chairs around the table. Legolas puts aside the papers he was studying and turns on Thorontur a gaze of polite attentiveness that does not deceive him in the slightest.

"I have greater cause to apologize than bursting on you announced. You do not know – I think I am not wrong in saying you would not credit – how relieved I am to see you restored to health. But I am not here to force anything on you, Legolas."

"I do not know what you expect from me."

"Nothing. I am not here to make excuses, and if you cannot trust me again I will understand. If that is your decision I will, of course, step down, as soon as the King can find someone to take my place. I only ask that you hear me out."

Legolas makes no objection. Thorontur does not hope for more than that.

"I know I am not your father," he begins, "but I have always cared for you as if –" He stops himself short at the sudden darkening of Legolas' eyes. After a moment to gather his courage, he goes on. "That is true, little though you may believe me. It was… difficult." He draws a breath. "I suspected nothing at first – how should I? Worry for you took up all my thoughts. Then Melda hinted to us – to Celebwen, and to me – that she thought Calathiel might be poisoning you."

"I believe I know the rest of the story," Legolas says coolly.

"I could not credit it," Thorontur goes on doggedly. "I do not say Calathiel does not have her faults, but she has always been as fond of you as she is of Feredir. But… you were not healing as you ought, and I began to doubt. That is when I should have said something. I did not dare."

"My lord, if there is nothing further –"

"I did not dare because I knew what _I_ would do, if someone other than my daughter had done you harm. There would have been no mercy in my mind. I could not imagine that there would be any in Thranduil's, even with your intervention… And I thought…"

Thorontur pauses, considering. He knows Legolas is not angry because he tried to spare his daughter. Nor is he angry because Thorontur put his life in danger… or if he is, that is anger that Thorontur can persuade away. Legolas is angry because Thorontur did not have enough faith in Legolas to tell him the truth. Everything stemmed from that. All that Legolas suffered, Thranduil's anger… even, perhaps, Míron's death. If Legolas had not been weakened as much as he was, Míron would never have dreamed of taking him on – and even if he had, Legolas would have incapacitated him easily.

"I should have told you the truth then," Thorontur says at last. "I did not. For that there is no excuse. I will not insult you by attempting one. I will tell you the truth now… everything."

"I do not know that there is anything left to tell, Lord Thorontur."

"You know very little of what happened after Rochendilwen brought you back to the stronghold, save what your friends told you – I do not impugn them, Legolas. They were acting for the best. Perhaps that is more than I can say of myself; all the same, they cannot have told you everything. Rochendilwen brought you back. That much you do know. Celebwen sent for me at once – and I was horrified. The wound was serious. It was poisoned. She could give me no assurance that you would live. Losing you – the _idea_ of losing you – I could not stand to think of it. I have always felt…"

Thorontur pauses. He does not know if what he is about to say will be well received, but what choice does he have?

"I have been accused of not being as concerned about your safety as I was for Feredir's in his days as a warrior. That is true, although not in the way most people think. Feredir is my son and I love him, but he was an incompetent warrior. I will not say he lacked courage, but he did not have the instincts, or the spirit. You, on the other hand…" Thorontur shrugs. "I have always worried about you far less than about Feredir because I knew you could take care of yourself if anybody could. Never, not at the worst of times, did I ever really believe we might lose you. And so, when Celebwen told me that she could not promise that she could save you… I could barely think clearly."

Legolas' expression is inscrutable.

"At that time," Thorontur goes on, "I wished desperately that Barancrist had stayed behind. _Anything_ that might help you… Well, we were fortunate. You began to heal. It was not as quick as I would have liked, but you _were_ getting better. I thought it was simply that you were trying to do too much too soon. Celebwen could not conceal her worry from me, though – and she _was_ still worried about you." He pauses. "Melda told us she thought Calathiel might be poisoning you."

"And you _believed_ her?" Legolas asks incredulously. " _Calathiel?_ "

"Legolas, you were _dying_. If such a thing was happening, I could not believe anything was impossible. And it never occurred to me that Melda would accuse her sister – her own _sister_ – without being completely certain. I had fallen in with your wishes not to say anything to Thranduil until then. I had hoped, despite everything, that there would be nothing to tell. As soon as Melda told us what she suspected – what she claimed to suspect – my first instinct was to summon Thranduil back. Melda and Celebwen begged me not to – and Celebwen swore she would ensure no harm came to you."

Thorontur waits to see if Legolas has anything to say. When there is no response, he leans back in his chair.

"I promised you honesty, and you will have it. When I think of what happened, _that_ is what I reproach myself with the most. Celebwen is fond of you, of course, but I should not have put my faith in her. Not when it became so complicated. She _was_ willing to risk your life to save Calathiel."

"So were you, my lord," Legolas points out.

"I am willing to risk your life," Thorontur agrees. "But not like _that_. I risk your life every time I send you out to fight. So does your father. As painful as it is, that is a risk warriors must take. But _this_ – I believed she could keep you safe, Legolas. I did. Perhaps I believed it because I wanted to, and my judgement was clouded."

"Perhaps it was," is all Legolas will vouchsafe.

"Then Saeldur returned. You do not know how many times I have given thanks to Elbereth that he came back when he did. I might not have realized that Celebwen's efforts to save you were failing. It would not have occurred to me to doubt her. I would not have wanted to doubt her. But Saeldur did, and he did what I would never have been able to bring myself to do. More than once I came close to telling you, but always Celebwen persuaded me against it, and promised me you would suffer no lasting damage. She said she would tell me if it came to that, and then I could tell the Royal Guard everything. Saeldur was not blinded by his faith in the healers. He knew what had to be done."

"Why did you not say anything then?"

"Whom could I have told? Even if your friends had permitted me to be alone with you, I would not have burdened you when I knew how close you were to death. No further damage could be done to you while all the healers were barred."

"Is that all?"

"No," Thorontur admits. "I was ashamed to face you. There. I have said it. I was ashamed to face you then. I am ashamed to face you now. My daughter has brought shame on herself and all her family. My wife – I love Celebwen. Nothing can ever change that. Yet… She persuaded me to do what I knew was wrong. I cannot hold it against her, but I cannot deny that it happened."

"I do not know what you expect me to say, Lord Thorontur."

"I do not expect anything. I should have told you the truth in the beginning. I allowed myself to be convinced otherwise, against my own better judgement. I have done my best to remedy my oversight now, though you may quite naturally consider the attempt inadequate." He pauses. "You know I would not have spoken so freely to anybody else, particularly of Celebwen."

"I know," Legolas says. "But you have told me nothing that allows me to believe I can trust you again. To tell me the truth when it cannot change the course of events is no virtue."

Thorontur cannot hold back a bitter laugh. "I do not claim to have become any more virtuous than I was. But you nearly died. You nearly died because I allowed myself to be persuaded to take a risk that I should never have considered – a risk that I should have known was completely unnecessary. I should have known you would persuade your father to be merciful. I was not thinking clearly, afraid you would die, afraid my daughter was guilty of treason, but that is no excuse. If you do not believe a single thing I have said so far, believe this: the only incentive I need to tell you the truth in future is the knowledge that lying to you very nearly caused your death. Whether or not you forgive me, I can never forgive myself for that."

Legolas says nothing. Considering that it is best to trust to time and Legolas' inability to hold a grudge, Thorontur gets to his feet, inclines his head formally to the Elf-prince, and leaves the room.

* * *

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	4. One Year Later: Mithrandir

**Disclaimer:** Everything belongs to the Professor.

 **Author's Note:** Well… It was quicker. A little. ;) I hope you enjoy this story. There's one more chapter after this one to finish this, and then just one more major fic to go in this arc, though there will be some more gapfillers at some point.

Many thanks to everyone who reviewed!

* * *

 **One Year Later: Mithrandir**

"The sons of Elrond were unable to accompany me, as they wished to do," are Mithrandir's first words. "They send their regards, as do Elrond, Glorfindel, Erestor and Lindir. Glorfindel added some remarks about the importance of weapons training but I will forbear to repeat them, since I can see you do not need the advice."

Legolas cannot hold back his smile as Mithrandir, with twinkling eyes and a fine disregard for the possibility of being hit by a stray arrow, cuts across the archery field to reach him.

"Did you walk all the way from Imladris, my lord?" he asks.

"I walked all the way from the Shire, and stopped at Imladris to ask if Elrond had had tidings from Círdan. I do hope your father will let you accompany me to the Shire one day. I believe you would like the little folk, and they would be utterly fascinated by Greenwood's warrior-prince."

"Little folk?" asks Rochendilwen, who is supervising the training session with Legolas. "Do you mean Dwarves?"

"Dwarves, fascinated by a young Elven lord? Not in the least… although Legolas _can_ be persuasive when he chooses. But that is a thought to be pursued another time. It is Halflings I mean, or, to give them the name they call themselves, Hobbits. They are very different from Dwarves. For one thing, they are quieter." He glances at the archers, who have stopped their practice to watch his progress. "You do not mind if I steal Legolas, Rochendilwen?"

"Of course not," she says, smiling, as Mithrandir takes Legolas' arm and urges him in the direction of the forest. "But on your head be it if he is late for War Council!"

"We are not going far," Mithrandir assures her.

He is true to his word. He leads Legolas only far enough into the forest to be clear of eavesdroppers before, with his customary directness, he comes to the point.

"Your friends are worried about you, Legolas. Elladan and Elrohir told me that your recent letters have been… lacking… in your normal cheer."

Legolas suppresses a sigh with difficulty. "Do they make a practice of complaining to you when my letters do not satisfy them?"

"Only when they think there is reason for concern. Much has happened since, under these very trees, we had a conversation about trust and the loyalty of your friends. The sudden and unexpected departure of Thorontur's daughter for Mithlond gave rise to speculation, much of it, I suspect, baseless. Still, from what little Elladan and Elrohir were willing to tell me, the truth is bad enough." He pauses, studying Legolas, and then says, "They wanted very much to come here themselves, but they are occupied with matters in Eriador."

"My father is worried," Legolas says quietly. "He tries not to show it, but I can see it. He fears that the time is fast approaching when the doom of Middle-earth will be decided."

"Thranduil is no fool, and in his own realm he knows and hears things that even Elrond and Galadriel do not. That is partly why I have come." Mithrandir looks about, spots a fallen log, and seats himself on it. "Old men must rest their legs, whether or not the warriors of Thranduil must. Come, sit with me."

Legolas drops next down to him. "Why are you here?"

"What Thorontur did was terrible." Legolas stiffens, and Mithrandir's hand lands on his arm. "Hear me out, Legolas. I do not defend him. I can guess, better than most, how terrible the consequences could have been. His action – or, to be precise, his _inaction_ – nearly led to your death. He might have caused a catastrophe of untold proportions. If the power in Dol Guldur claims the stronghold of the Elven-king, as could well have happened if you had died, it will only be a matter of time before the malice spreads. You and your fellow-warriors do more than you know towards keeping Middle-earth safe."

"My father would hold the borders against Dol Guldur, no matter what happened to me."

Mithrandir shakes his head, but evidently decides not to pursue that argument. "If Thorontur's actions have cast a shadow on your spirit, Legolas, our Enemy, the Enemy of all the free peoples of Middle-earth, has won a mighty victory. Do not give him that victory."

"I think you overestimate what I can do."

"Do I? I will tell you what I have noticed in the very short time I have been here. You are not yourself. I have not heard you laugh once since I arrived. That disturbs your archers. They communicate their worry to their friends, and the forest responds to the spreading unease. You have more influence than you know… Your spirit has grown clouded, Legolas. I do not know by what miracle Thranduil managed to raise a child untainted by darkness in the shadow of Dol Guldur. I know you would not see his effort come to ruin. At least for your father's sake, let me help you."

"I do not think you can help me, my lord."

"You felt the same way when Lindariel died," Mithrandir says calmly. At Legolas' flinch, he goes on, "Forgive me for awakening painful memories. I have no choice, and I think you have strength of character enough to learn from the past. You saw your mother killed by one who should have defended her with his life. You were very nearly killed yourself. You certainly suffered far more than you did under Melda's attempt to poison you. Yet, although you grieved, you learnt to smile again. What is different this time?"

"That was Bregolien," Legolas mutters.

"That was Bregolien," Mithrandir concedes, "whom you never particularly liked, who made no attempt to be likeable, who, when he was supervising your weapons training, showed a streak of ruthlessness that should have warned everybody that his soul was twisted. This, on the other hand, is Thorontur, who has been a second father to you. His betrayal is greater, and you are angrier."

"Why could he not trust me?" Legolas bursts out. "If he had told me what he knew…"

"As you told your father your suspicions of Saeldur?" Mithrandir's voice is still sympathetic, but there is an unyielding edge to it. "As I recall, we discussed that. At the time, you did not want to tell Thranduil anything that might prejudice him against Saeldur. Have you changed your mind since?"

"Saeldur has proven himself. I was right to trust him."

"What if you had been wrong? For Melda to poison you, and hope to do so undetected, required a peculiar combination of circumstances. You were gravely injured, your father and Arbellason were not here, Barancrist and Feredir were not here. Saeldur, on the other hand, could kill you without needing to wait for anything."

"There was never any evidence that Saeldur was guilty of wrongdoing."

 _There was_ , one of the trees interjects.

Legolas shoots it an irate glare. "Hearsay that could mean anything is not evidence."

 _You overheard the conversation yourself._

"Enough," says Mithrandir, beard twitching in amusement. "Legolas, I am not asking you to forgive Thorontur. You did that already without anybody's prompting, when you persuaded your father not to punish him. I am asking you not to make your decision to forgive him meaningless. You harm more than the Woodland Realm if you harbour resentment. You harm yourself… and, by extension, more than you know."

Legolas wants to answer, but he truly does not know what to say. He does not even know what he is most angry about – that Thorontur did not trust him, or that he has been put in this impossible position.

"It is not easy, I know," Mithrandir says, seeming almost to read his mind. "But you must do it if you are to find peace within yourself."

"How?" Legolas asks. "Even if I wanted to… Do you think I do not _want_ to forget all that has happened? I would give anything to erase it from my mind."

"That is entirely the wrong attitude, although it is unsurprising under the circumstances. It was an unpleasant time, and it is only natural that you should want to forget it – that you should _try_ to forget it. But that is not in the order of things. Eru intended Elven memories to be long. That is a blessing… and, sometimes, a curse. You will never forget what happened, Legolas. It is pointless to expect such an event. You must accept it. Learn from it, as you would learn from a loss on the battlefield. But do not let it consume your life."

"I thought I was _not_ letting it consume my life," says Legolas with a wry smile. "Perhaps I was wrong."

Mithrandir's brow creases. "Has nobody spoken to you of this until now?"

"Saeldur did, at first. It was because of him that I spoke to Lord Thorontur at all." Legolas shrugs. "It did not help, and he did not bring it up again. I think he realized there was no point."

"Saeldur did not mention it again?" Mithrandir looks contemplative. "That concerns me. I had imagined that Saeldur would be violently opposed to Thorontur, given his… impetuousness. And his loyalty to you. If he insisted that you speak to Thorontur, he obviously saw what Elladan and Elrohir judged from your letters… It is most unlike him to give up."

"I was surprised as well," Legolas admits. "But not displeased."

"Regardless," Mithrandir says, with a brisk return to his normal manner, "this cannot continue."

"What would you have me do?"

"I cannot order you to give up you anger, and I would not if I could. But go and speak to Thorontur – and not as one who has been forced into an unpleasant situation and is gritting his teeth until he can leave it. Speak to him. _Listen_ to him. I think you will find his affection for you is undiminished." Reading Legolas' doubt in his eyes, Mithrandir goes on, "He did make a mistake. It very nearly cost him dearly. I think he will be more anxious than you could possibly be to avoid such a situation again."

"But –"

"For the good of all Middle-earth, Legolas, you must make peace with yourself. You cannot do that until you make peace with Thorontur. Do it in whatever manner you choose, but do it."

Faced with Mithrandir's earnest expression, Legolas cannot but acquiesce.

As they make their way back to the stronghold, he offers to escort Mithrandir to his father's study, more to put off the inevitable moment than anything. Mithrandir, eyes twinkling, accepts. He keeps up a steady stream of idle conversation, most of it about his recent stay in Imladris and much of it slyly uncomplimentary to its Master's policy of not trading with the Shire for pipeweed. Legolas cannot hold back his laughter.

By the time they have arrived at the King's study, Legolas is in a much happier mood.

Thorontur emerges from the study just as they reach it. Although the watches have been peaceful of late, he has the pinched, strained expression he has worn since Melda was caught – no, Legolas, realizes, before that. He has not seen Thorontur smile since before he himself was injured.

It is no effort to say, then, "Would you care for an archery contest, my lord?"

Thorontur's smile when he realizes that Legolas is, in fact, addressing him, is bright enough to make up for all the past months.

* * *

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	5. One Hundred Years Later: Saeldur

**Disclaimer:** Everything belongs to the Professor.

 **Author's Note:** I know this took forever. This is the last chapter of this story, and it brings it up-to-date with _Practise to Deceive_. I've started working on the next, which will be the last major part of this arc. I'm hoping to start posting within a month or two but I don't want to make promises.

Many thanks to everyone who reviewed.

Enjoy!

* * *

 **One Hundred Years Later: Saeldur**

" _Legolas, no!"_

 _Blood. So much blood._

 _Despite centuries as a warrior, the smell of it makes him feel queasy._

" _Stay with me."_

 _All around him he hears the whisper, Traitor._

Saeldur wakes with a jolt.

A dream.

It is a few minutes before he can calm himself. It was a _dream_ , no more. Legolas is alive. Legolas is perfectly well and will laugh immoderately if he knows how Saeldur's heart is thumping against his ribs like a rabbit's, because of a nightmare –

Elves do not have nightmares.

But Saeldur has never had the gift of foresight, either, and it is unlikely to be manifesting itself at this late date. His mind is unduly disturbed by everything that has happened lately. It is no more than that.

Saeldur shudders.

He cannot pretend not to be worried by the events of the summer. He returned from escorting a group of Elves to Mithlond to find the Legolas in the house of Elrond and the stronghold alive with the tidings of Bregolien's return and how close he had come, again, to murdering the Elven-prince. It is difficult to separate the truth from the rumour.

Aeroniel and Rochendilwen, guessing that he would rather hear everything from Legolas, have not discussed the incident with him at all. He doubts Rochendilwen wants to speak about it in any case; her temper has been shorter than usual.

Saeldur has not had a chance to speak to his friend privately, since his return from Imladris the previous week, but he must find the time soon.

He scrambles out of bed and pours himself a cup of wine from the sideboard. Strong though it is, it does no more than take the edge off his apprehension. When he closes his eyes, he can still see blood on the floor, blood welling up between his fingers, too much blood.

He would go and find Legolas, but he has a feeling the young human will be with him. He has been Legolas' shadow since they arrived, following him from his room to the dining hall to the training fields. It is not surprising; the human – Estel – has grown up in Imladris and knows nobody in Eryn Galen, but Saeldur feels a faint stab of irritation all the same. Surely one of the young pages can chaperone him.

If Saeldur is to be honest with himself, he must admit that at least part of his irritation comes from knowing that Estel overheard him speaking to Arahael. He knows he should appreciate it as a sign of loyalty to Legolas that Estel asked him about it later, but…

He stares moodily out the window. If it had been the King, or Aeroniel or Rochendilwen, or for that many any of the archers or members of court, he would not have objected to the questioning as much. He resents being compelled to explain himself – and avow his loyalty to Legolas – to a Mortal child, even one who appears to have the favour of Lord Elrond.

With a sigh, and the vain hope of finding peaceful dreams, Saeldur returns to his bed.

Legolas does not come to the dining hall to breakfast, so it is Rochendilwen whom Saeldur meets first. One look at him and she demands, "What happened? You look terrible." Ignoring Saeldur's protests, she pulls him into an alcove.

"What happened?" she asks again. There is a dangerous glint in her dark eyes.

She is clearly not going to give up. Saeldur confesses, "I am worried about Legolas."

Fortunately that requires no further explanation. Rochendilwen relaxes, though her voice is still sharper than usual. "I expect you are. I was as well. But he is handling… everything… far better than I hoped. You should go and speak to him. I believe he is on the archery field with Lord Thorontur and Estel."

Saedur knows he cannot avoid Estel indefinitely, particularly if he plans to spend the rest of his visit trailing after Legolas like a lost puppy. He makes his way outdoors.

It is no trouble to find them, since it seems as though most of the archers, and a good half of the other warriors, are clustered around the field watching. This is normal whenever Thorontur takes on a new student, and Saeldur feels a hint of sympathy for Estel. A crowd of observers is enough to throw off anybody's aim.

Saeldur hesitates. This is not the time to speak to Legolas, there are too many people watching. Later will be better, perhaps tomorrow, or after Estel has returned to Imladris. He is only here for the summer, after all. Saeldur can wait that long –

Then Legolas, perched on the fence, happens to look up and catch his eye. Saeldur has no hope of escaping his notice. Legolas leans over and murmurs something to Colfind, who is with him, and then swings his legs over the fence and slips through the crowd to Saeldur.

"What is it?" Legolas demands.

Saeldur glances at Estel. Engrossed in his lesson, it does not appear that he has even noticed Legolas' departure. Legolas is wearing the firm expression that means he will not give up.

Saeldur says, softly, "I have been having… disturbing dreams." Legolas waits for him to go on. "Last night… Elbereth." Saeldur cannot keep a quaver from his voice at the memory. "Legolas, please, do not ask me to repeat them."

Instead of answering, Legolas takes Saeldur by the elbow and guides him away from the field. Since nearly everyone has gathered to give Estel generally unhelpful advice, they are soon alone in the archers' hall. All the same, Legolas leads the way to the small council chamber at the far end and shuts the door firmly.

"Tell me," he says.

Saeldur would laugh if he could not see it so clearly.

"I… It was… I was in the stronghold, in the passage leading to your father's… to the King's court. It was… full." He pauses, words tight in his throat until he feels Legolas' hand on his shoulder. "You were there," Saeldur goes on. "And you were _hurt_ , and I do not know how but I know – I _knew_ – it was my fault. And I could not stop the blood, I _tried_ , but there was so much, and then you – you died."

"Saeldur –"

"And everyone was blaming me," Saeldur goes on in a rush. " _Everyone_ , and I knew it, but I did not _care_ , because I could not make you hear me. I _tried_ , but I could not save you, and… Legolas, I do not know what it means, but I am frightened."

"It must have been frightening," says Legolas, "and I am not surprised that it has upset you. But it need not _mean_ anything. Did you think it was a vision of the future?"

"I have never had the gift of foresight, Elbereth be praised. But when I think of what might have happened this summer… It has been so long, and we face so many greater threats now. I had all but forgotten Bregolien."

"It was partly my own fault," says Legolas. "It was the storm – I should not have gone out, but… I felt like I could hear her." An indrawn breath. "Again." After a pause, he goes on briskly, "But it does not matter now. It is over. No irreversible damage was done."

"You should not have gone out." Saeldur shakes his head. "You _must_ be more careful, Legolas. Everything, all the signs indicate that the Enemy is gaining strength again. If war is upon us –"

"If war is upon us," Legolas says with a shrug, "perhaps my place is not here."

Saeldur scoffs. "All because Mithrandir said it? He may be numbered among the wise, but he does not know everything – certainly not everything of matters in Eryn Galen. If the power in Dol Guldur should rise again, Eryn Galen will be its first target."

"Sometimes…" Legolas hesitates. "Sometimes I think Mithrandir fears that the true threat is far greater."

Saeldur stares at him. The word _Mordor_ hangs in the air unspoken.

"That is not possible," Saedur says at last. "The weapon of the Enemy was taken from him."

"Taken from him and lost." Legolas shakes his head. "It is a terrible thought. Perhaps I am wrong. I hope I am. Mithrandir has said nothing of the sort, at least not to me. One way or another, the time for caution is past."

Saeldur does not know what to say. For the first time in a hundred years, he feels as though events are spiralling out of control. Some strange mood is on Legolas: it has been on him since the battle at Erebor, but now it seems almost as though he is mentally preparing himself for a far greater battle ahead. Saeldur knows instinctively that it has something to do with the young mortal, and he cannot entirely bury his resentment.

"Legolas… Promise me you will not do anything foolish without telling me."

Legolas laughs, bright and merry, and it lays Saeldur's fears to rest. "You have my word."

* * *

THE END


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